Phone calls and car rides
by EliH2
Summary: It was ironic how deeply simple things could affect a person. A car ride, a phone call… a syringe." Cuddy gets a phone call that shakes her world, is about to do something stupid, and House is the only one who notices... Oneshot. Slight Huddy. Chap. 2 up
1. Chapter 1

**This switches back and forth from House and Cuddy's points of view. Please review if you read! Thanks!**

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House was hiding. He was in an empty room across from the Clinic. His theory was that Cuddy would never look that close to the place he was trying to avoid. Suddenly, he shrank back from the glass doors. Cuddy strode into the lobby obviously looking for him. Anger was radiating from her, and he could practically here the words that were surely to come. "HOUSE! CLINIC, NOW!!!!"

One of the nurses caught her attention, and for a moment House was worried that she knew where he was hiding. But, then Cuddy was handed a phone. She listened to whoever was on the other end for a few moments, and then she turned white. Cuddy was visibly shaking, and to House's well trained eyes, it was obvious that she was about to cry. No one else noticed.

For a moment, Cuddy looked indecisive, like she didn't know what to do. Then, she seemed to make a decision. With what House saw as determination, she turned and headed slowly towards her office. Suddenly, she turned around and went into one of the exam rooms. About a minute later, she came out. Cuddy did not appear to have done anything in the examination room, but House noticed a cylindrical shape that was under her sleeve. A syringe. Apparently bad news, plus sudden decision, plus hidden syringe. An icy feeling filled his stomach. _Crap._ House sped out of the patient's room and practically ran toward the elevator. It was a common thought among the nurses that they had never seen the man move so fast.

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Cuddy climbed the stairs without really thinking about it. She felt numb. _The calm before the storm. Well, I don't want the storm._ The syringe that was hidden under her sleeve seemed to grow heavier with each step she took. But, Cuddy had made her decision. There would be no storm for her.

She had always wanted to be a mother. Always. Ever since she was a toddler, she had imagined having her own child. A warm, bundle that she could hold in her arms and protect from the world. A living, breathing human being that she had helped to create, and that she would raise to be a responsible adult. But nothing she had done worked. According to even the best doctors, there was nothing wrong with her. She should have been perfectly able to have a child but, it never happened. In the solitude of the staircase Cuddy allowed a tear to roll down her cheek.

And then there had been the phone call. Such an everyday occurrence. Such an ordinary thing that had rocked her world, and would ultimately be the cause of her death. The phone call informing her, telling her the terrible truth. Something that she had told others countless times. Oh, how different it was to hear it from the other end. Her mother was dead.

Despite everything, Cuddy had kept up hope. She had hoped that she could somehow find a way. She had been stubborn saying to herself that she would get pregnant. Would be a mother. But now, the death of her own mother seemed to laugh at that conviction. Seemed to tell her that she was not destined to be a mother, just as her mother was not destined to be a grandmother.

A stifled sob escaped her lips, and the tears rolled down more consistently. Her mother had so looked forward to grandchildren. When Cuddy had told her of her plan to have a child, her mother had been _so_ happy. She had talked for hours about how wonderful it would be to see a new child grow. To get to spoil her grandchild, not have to be the one to punish, to not the child unhappy. And now, now a simple car ride had stolen away her hopes.

It was ironic how deeply simple things could affect a person. A car ride, a phone call… a syringe.

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House ran into Cuddy's office and breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't here yet. His leg was protesting violently from the over usage, but he ignored it. He had something more important to do.

A red light blinked from the message machine. Figuring it would benefit his cause to have as much information as possible, he hit the play button. A quiet voice came from the machine.

"Lisa dear," hesitant, not good, "I just wanted to- um, tell you that, oh lord." Really not good. "I just wanted to inform you that your mother… passed away an hour ago. She was in a car accident, and the doctors couldn't do anything… I'm so sorry. I'll try to contact you someplace else."

_Shit, shit, shit._

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Cuddly stumbled up the last few stairs. _Only a few more steps to go._ Then she could lock the doors and end it all. The tears were now streaming freely down her face, and she didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing she had done had ever mattered. Not really.

With a great effort of will, she pushed open her office doors, stepped in, then turned around and locked them. All of this was done from memory as she was now crying so hard she couldn't see.

Suddenly, she was enveloped in warmth. Someone was embracing her. And muttering soothing words. Cuddy thought she recognized the voice, but at the same time it was unfamiliar. Now that someone was here, she lost all of her energy and sagged against the warmth, sobbing.

"Shh," the voice comforted, "It will be alright. Your mother was very proud of you. She loved you, and would not want to be the reason that you were upset…" The voice trailed off, but the double meaning of the words was clear. _She would not want to be the reason you died._

Cuddy finally realized what she had been about to do. And it made her cry harder. She had always done stupid things. Now, the only reason she had not done the unthinkable was a warm embrace, a soothing tone, and just the right words.

Through her sobs she began to tell her troubles.

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House was immensely relived. He had managed to stop Cuddy. For now. As she spoke to him, revealed all of the things that had burdened her, he comforted and said things at the right time.

They stood there for hours, her speaking and sobbing, him listening and comforting. House's right thigh was screaming in agony. He had been forced to drop his cane to hug her. But still, he stayed right were he was knowing that he was the only one who could relieve her of the immense weight that had almost taken her from the world.

Not that he would ever tell someone, but he had been terrified of what would happen if he got there to late.

And, as he stood there listening, he learned things about his boss that he had never known. It seemed as if she believed that the only thing connecting her to the world was the words she was speaking.

Finally, she had cried and spoken her shared. She was so exhausted that she sagged even further, supporting all of her weight on House. The added weight increased the agony in his thigh tenfold, and he knew that if he didn't do something he would pass out from the pain. Slowly, he led her over to the couch that was in her office, and laid her down. He grabbed a blanket and tossed it over her, but Cuddy was already asleep.

House sagged against the wall and popped three Vicodin, chewing one to speed up the relief. After about ten minutes, his angry thigh began to calm down. He picked up his cane and limped heavily back to his office, never noticing the pill that he had left on the floor as he fumbled with the amber vial.

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When Cuddy awoke, she felt drained, but much calmer. She remembered what she had been planning to do, and the person who had comforted her. With a calmer mind, she finally recognized the voice. _House?_

Maybe it had been a dream. There was no way that House would do that for her. She was fairly certain that she had spoken for hours. Remembering his leg, she realized that there was no way that he _could_ either. He would have been in agony. As she finally stood and walked toward her desk, her eye caught on something. A white pill. She picked it up and examined it. _Vicodin._

Suddenly she turned on her heel and jogged over to House's office. She looked through the glass wall, and saw him lying on the floor, his hands clenched, face twisted in pain. She began to walk through the door, and help, but suddenly stopped. He was the kind of person who liked his acts of kindness to be noticed, and she felt certain that walking through his door would close off any opening this whole ordeal might have caused. Cuddy turned and walked away, a slight smile on her face.

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**I have an idea to make it a two shot if you guys like it, so please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: As sad as it is, I am not David Shore. I own nothing. **

**This is mainly from Cuddy's POV. The last part is from House.**

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Cuddy sat in her house, tears streaming over the picture of her and her mother, laughing together at her graduation from college. Her grief was more contained now, more reasonable, more healthy, but it was still grief. The sudden noise made her jump.

After a moment, she realized that it was the ringing of her cell phone. She checked the number: Wilson. She should have known that he would somehow find out, and she wasn't really ready to talk to anyone yet.

Sighing, she picked up the phone. "I'm fine."

There was a pause, and then Wilson replied, "And I wasn't in any doubt of that until just now. What happened?"

Damn. He hadn't been calling to comfort her about her mother. Which meant that he had been calling her about something else.

"Nothing. What do you need?" She tried her best to sound completely professional. Lucky for her, Wilson took the bait.

"It's just that well, House and I had planned to watch the game tonight at his place, but he wasn't there. It isn't like him to not come home on weekends. I called him, but there was no answer. Did he get a new case?" She heard the worry and irritation in Wilson's voice.

She was about to tell him no when she thought of something: House was probably still in pain. And he would probably be loped up on Vicodin. He didn't deserve a lecture from Wilson, not today at least.

"Sort of. It was someone else's problem but he kind of… took over," replied Cuddy, trying to be at least partially honest.

"Oh. Thank you. Have a good night Lisa."

"You as well Dr. Wilson." Cuddy said, emphasizing the use of his title and last name. She heard the click of the line, and hung up herself. For a moment, she just stood there, holding the phone. Then she grabbed her keys and headed out the door.

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Before long, Cuddy again found herself standing in the doorway of her most infamous employee's office. He was in a much similar position than the last time she had seen him. Lying on the floor, hands massaging his temple, face twisted in pain. This was one of the few times that she understood why House didn't care that he was an addict. He needed the pills anyway, and not to get high. The end result was the same, whether there was an intermediate addiction being fed or not.

"House," she said softly. In response, he merely groaned. She then noticed the small white pills that lay scattered around a prescription bottle. Again, "House." It wasn't said angrily, rather sadly, resigned and even a little guilty.

"Didn't take them. Thought about, but didn't," House's voice was rough and almost as quiet as hers had been. She felt an immediate sense of relief at his words, but she didn't know if it was due to the fact that he had spoken, or to what he had spoken. "It… hurts more than it should. Think I need an MRI." This time the result of his words was a wave of guilt.

"Ok. I'll schedule you one for tomorrow." House only nodded. Cuddy stepped through the door, and sat down against the wall. "Thank you. You did a great thing." Cuddy couldn't bring herself to elaborate. Instead, twiddling with a string on her pants, realizing that she was still wearing pajamas.

His reply surprised her, both it its existence and content. "No. It wasn't great. It wasn't even good. It was expected." Expected? What was he talking about?

"You stood for hours. You put yourself into this state. You..." the last part was almost a whisper, "saved my life. It _was_ great."

The man in front of her shook his head vehemently, and then seemed to regret it. "When it is within someone's power to save a life, it is their… responsibility to do so. No matter what."

At his statement, both her opinion and understanding of him increased. House would lie, cheat, steal, insult, and a commit a whole spectrum of social indiscretions, but he had his own moral standard. It was comprised of the most essential, most pure of the morals of the rest of society: morals that were often forgotten or overlooked in favor of the niceties. Looking at it the world from his point of view, she could understand his disdain for it.

Silence descended, and the two sat together. After a while, House's face smoothed, and before long he had drifted into an uneasy sleep. Cuddy got a few pillows and blankets from the nearest room, carefully put a blanket over House, and tucked a pillow under his head. She took a pillow and blanket for herself, and sat down in his chair for the night.

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**(House POV)**

House woke up with an angry ache in his thigh, but other than that, he was surprisingly comfortable. He remembered falling asleep on the floor… Grudgingly, he opened his eyes and looked around. The first thing he noticed was Cuddy, looking distinctly disheveled, and in her pajamas, curled up asleep on his chair. The second was the pillow he was resting on and the blanket that was covering him. It wasn't hard to put two and two together. House allowed himself the smallest semblance of an earnest smile, and was thankful, once again, that his boss and friend was safe. House once again closed his eyes.

**AU: Short, I know. Sorry. If you guys want another chapter, I might be able to manage that, but I would need suggestions.**


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